To War!
by Cunien
Summary: Ever wonder about those two little guys who run up and light a beacon in the RotK film? Well wonder no more! Introducing our intrepid heros Rabryn and Yrik! (Short 1 chap fic)


** To war!**- by Cunien  
  
Did you ever wonder about those little guys you see run up and light the beacon in RotK? You know the ones! They jump up and down and wave their torch at the other beacon lighters!   
Well, wonder no longer! Because here they are - Rabryn and Yrik!  
(Think of them as being similar to those two soldiers, Murtogg and Mulroy, in Pirates of the Caribbean!)  
  
Teensy bit of swearing every here and there. Nothing else really.  
  
  
*  
_See? The Beacons of Gondor are alight, calling for aid. War is kindled. See, there is the fire on Amon Din, and flame on Elienach; and there they go speeding west:  
Nardol, Erelas, Min-Rimmon, Calenhad, and the Halifirien on the borders of Rohan.' The Return of the King.  
  
*  
  
_Rabryn narrowed his eyes sceptically and pulled his coat a little tighter against the cold. Countless years on the summit of Min-Rimmon had robbed him of the energy, will, or indeed ability to shiver.  
  
Sitting opposite him, Yrik took a long drag of his pipe, blew out a stream of smoke and watched as the wind lashed it into the distance.  
  
Now, you'd like me to think that you had the King of Spears wouldn't you? he mused, glancing once more at the cards in his hand.  
  
A clatter drew the attention of the two men, and they watched as another bit of the stable roof parted company with it's fellows and danced through the air on unseen thermals. Within seconds it was a tiny dot in the distance, hovering for a moment, then twisting skywards on an up-draft, then down again as if it were no more than a feather.  
  
It's your turn. said Rabryn.  
  
Yrik snorted. It damn well is not. I did it last time, you know, that day I beat you with the Captain of Swords.  
  
Yrik my friend, never in your life have you beaten me with the Captain of Swords. He paused in thought, In fact, you've never beaten me at all.  
  
Yrik coughed on the smoke from his pipe. You liar!  
  
I am not. Look just go and fix it: Ned'll catch a cold. said Rabryn.  
  
Ned'll do nothing of the sort. You know as well as I do that anyone given to such fancies as colds wouldn't live a day up here. huffed Yrik as he got up and battled the wind that tried to push and pull him over the edge of the mountain.  
  
Scaling the low beams with ease, the man hung on tightly to the roof as he attempted to secure a plank of wood to cover the hole. Ned blinked and stared indifferently up at him through the gap; this was obviously not a particularly rare occurrence. The shaggy mountain pony was more hair than anything else, and Yrik suspected that if he were ever shorn, the poor nag would be no bigger than a dog.  
  
The rules set down by the Lord of the City stated that fresh horses were to be always in readiness to bear his errand riders to Rohan in the North, or to Belfalas in the South. But the truth was that no one had been anywhere near these parts bearing anything in an age, let alone errands.   
  
In fact, no one ever came to the summit of Min-Rimmon.  
Rabryn and Yrik hadn't really seen another soul on the mountain, bar Ned and the occasional bedraggled and wind battered eagle.   
  
One time, they saw a hare.  
  
But that was long ago.  
  
Once the stable roof was mended, for now at least, Yrik returned to the two chairs and a small table that had been bolted to the rock of the mountain.  
Rabryn smiled.  
he said.  
said Yrik with a grim smile.   
  
If the weather conditions had permitted it, he would have slapped his cards down on the table with an air of triumph. Instead he just turned them around and showed them to his partner.  
  
Ah ha! Warrior's flush! he yelled in victory, but the wind caught his voice, and Rabryn only saw his mouth move soundlessly.  
  
Rabryn grinned toothily and showed Yrik his cards.  
A Court of Kings. Which most definitely beats a Warrior's flush. Unless the Warrior has the King of Swords. But that's another matter.  
  
But Yrik was only afforded one outraged glance at the cards before the cruel winds plucked them from Rabryn's hand.  
  
he screamed, chasing the Herald of Spears down the mountain. But the illusive card joined it's brethren and skittered down the skree covered slope, leaving Rabryn to fall to his knees and shake his fists at the sky above.  
  
he muttered.   
  
Yrik sagged down beside him.  
  
That was our only pack of cards. he said blankly.  
Rabryn felt as though he might cry.  
  
But you did see, didn't you? The Court of Kings? I beat you.  
  
I saw no such thing. replied Yrik.  
  
Why you little...! Rabryn swore. I swear I'd throttle you now if it wasn't for the fact there'd be no one to fix the stable roof!  
  
Yrik sighed, but then perked up with a sudden thought. How about a game of eye-spy? he asked hopefully.  
  
Rabryn just scowled and walked back to the table, muttering darkly.  
....eye-spy.... I'll give him eye bloody spy! - Something beginning with m' eh?! Could it _possibly_ be mountains'?! Or c', for cloud'? Hmm? They're all anyone's bloody eye can bloody spy up here! Oh look, just come back before you fall off the edge! he yelled.  
  
No answer.  
  
Yrik! Stop fooling. Rabryn called, huffing back into his chair.  
  
Silence, but for the screaming wind.  
  
  
  
Rabryn jumped as his friend appeared suddenly over the ridge, scrambling in his haste.  
  
Rabryn! Rabryn! The beacons! he wheezed, The beacons are lit!  
  
Yeah, right. spat Rabryn. Pull the other one mate. I won't be caught out with _that_ old chestnut again.  
  
Erelas is lit! To war! To war! gasped Yrik, giddy with excitement. He might have been doing a little dance, Rabryn could not be sure. The wind made you move strangely up here.  
  
Never in our lifetime have the beacons been lit. Never in our _father's_ lifetimes, or their father's before them. As long as our lines have been Beacon Lighters they've never had to light any.... bloody hell. Rabryn finished.  
  
He stared dumfounded at one of the mountains that made up the endless chain, stretching on further than they had ever set foot in their lives.  
  
The beacon of Erelas was lit.  
  
To war. he whispered.  
  
Yrik stopped dancing and looked at Rabryn.  
  
So. What do we do?  
  
Rabryn shook his head, lost for words. I... suppose we light the beacon.  
  
said Yrik, gleefully rubbing his hands together.  
  
The beacon, the beacon.... he looked around them, And where's the beacon?  
  
We burnt it. said Rabryn, still staring at the summit of Erelas and it's leaping flames.  
  
We bur-... oh yeah. said Yrik.  
  
They had indeed burnt the beacon.   
Not all at once of course. Day by day.   
Firewood was hard to come by when there was not a tree or substantial plant in miles. Plus the stable roof always needed fixing...   
  
They stood in silence for a moment.  
  
  
  
The beacon of Erelas mocked them in the distance.  
  
Oh! Come on! They'll miss us out! Maybe Calenhad can see Erelas! Maybe they'll light their's before us! yelled Yrik in agitation. The first time this happens in 400 years and I am _not_ going to be missed out! We must have something to burn!   
  
Their gaze fell on the table and chairs.   
Not enough wood.  
  
The stable.  
  
As if in answer, Ned brayed indignantly from inside the tiny shack.  
  
Their hut.  
  
Rabryn looked at Yrik and sighed.  
  
There's nothing for it.  
  
Can't I even get my things out first? pleaded Yrik.  
  
Nope. Sorry. No time. replied Rabryn, Besides, you don't have any things. Neither of us do.  
  
But keeping a flame alive long enough to light anything is no small task when you live on a windy mountain top.  
  
Damn it! cursed Rabryn, We haven't had the training!  
  
But against all odds, if a little late, ten minutes after they first saw the beacon of Erelas lit Min-Rimmon's summit burst into flames.  
  
The two men stood, staring anxiously into the North.  
  
Is that.. no, that's not. Wait! no. Yrik said, peering towards the distant mountains.  
  
Then suddenly, Calenhad's peak was leaping with fire.  
  
Yrik and Rabryn screamed joyously at the top of their lungs; they linked arms and danced a merry jig; they waved the smoking torch from which they'd lit the beacon at Calenhad and it's Lighters, suddenly feeling part of something so much bigger. This morning they were the only two men in the world. This afternoon they were a link in a long and important chain.  
  
Their celebrations were cut short when their own beacon gave a loud pop, sending burning embers flying and a flaming beam crashing down beside them.  
  
Rabryn and Yrik sat down and felt the unfamiliar sensation of heat against their wind-blown faces.  
  
I did have something in there. said Yrik suddenly, gesturing towards their flaming house.  
  
An interesting stone. It had white swirly bits and everything. Yrik insisted.  
Well if you're lucky it'll be there when the ashes cool.  
  
I wonder why the beacons are being lit. mused Rabryn. Up here on   
Min-Rimmon they knew nothing of the affairs of men. They were Gods, looking down on the people and their silly wars far below.  
  
Yrik shrugged.  
But don't you even wonder who lit the first beacon? asked Rabryn, prodding at their burning house with a stray plank of wood.  
  
Ah, tis not our place to ask questions. the other man answered authoritatively. He sat back and smiled.  
  
We just light the beacon.  
  
**The end.  
  
**Review? Please? I'll do a beacon lighting dance for you - it's all the rage in Gondor at the mo.  
x.


End file.
